AIR—The Troubadour.
This song was composed while George Latimer, the fugitive slave, was
confined in Leverett Street Jail, Boston, expecting to be carried
back to Virginia by James B. Gray, his claimant.
Sadly the fugitive weeps in his cell,
Listen awhile to the story we tell;
Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave,
Lady fair! Lady fair! weep for the slave.
Praying for liberty, dearer than life,
Torn from his little one, torn from his wife,
Flying from slavery, hear him and save,
Christian men! Christian men! help the poor slave.
Think of his agony, feel for his pain,
Should his hard master e’er hold him again;
Spirit of liberty, rise from your grave,
Make him free, make him free, rescue the slave.
Freely the slave-master goes where he will;
Freemen, stand ready, his wish to fulfil,
Helping the tyrant, or honest or knave,
Thinking not, caring not, for the poor slave.
Talk not of liberty, liberty’s dead;
See the slave-master’s whip over our head;
Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves,
Boston, boys! Boston boys! catch me my slaves.
Freemen, arouse ye, before it’s too late;
Slavery is knocking at every gate,
Make good the promise, your early days gave,
Boston boys! Boston boys! rescue the slave.